0400: Awaken. Today is the day I make a leap into the “gaymer’s” world. IDPA. I have no clue what it stands for, but I saw it on a commercial when watching an episode of Tac-TV. Apparently, LAV even shoots it sometimes. I figured that alone made it worth trying.
0405: Coffee. Black. With gunpowder in it. Makes a man hard.
0415: Brush teeth. With Break-Free. Because, **** You. That’s why.
0430: Dress. Yell at the wife for not having my Kryptek Pants cleaned. Settle for my Tru-Spec BDUs in Multicam. Already feel like a tool, because Multicam is so last year. Toss on a Tru-spec combat shirt in Coyote, because real operators don’t match. Don EDC gear. Load range bag with 200 rounds of Corbon DPX, because I train like I fight.
0500: Back out of the driveway. Maintain situational awareness while exiting suburbs. I live my life in condition red. Always aware. Briefly entertain the thought of divorcing my wife. She will only slow me down when SHTF.
0745: Arrive at range. Register for the match. I’m handed a sheet. They tell me this is where your scores are recorded. I scoff, as the only score I care about is whether I am alive and the threats are eliminated. I keep it, as they tell me this is the only way they keep track of who’s turn it is to operate. There’s a place on the sheet for a name. I put “Jim White” down for PERSEC reasons. You never know who could see this sheet.
0815: Waiting for some type of meeting. Starting to notice a lot of people showing up wearing what looks like bicycle shirts that are bright with logos all over them. Some of them throw on funny looking vests over said shirts. I’m beginning to wonder if I’m at a dynamic shooting match, or a fishing tournament. Finally, I see some other tactical guys, one even has a beard, I make my way over to them. We talk tactics for the next few minutes, they inform me that they have been operating at IDPA matches for a few months. They tell me to “squad” with them. I’m kind of apprehensive of this. I’m a lone wolf. But they seem like decent men. One of them tell me that you’re not supposed to have loaded weapons until they tell you to load them. I’m instantly appalled. But if LAV can do it, I can. Hell, I even heard Yeager shot IDPA once.
0830: Safety Meeting. I use this time to size up the crowd. So. Many. Sheep.
0850: They release us to go to our first stage. As we approach, I notice an office desk sitting in front of 8 humanoid shaped pieces of cardboard. Two pieces have black hands on them. They are placed in front of two of the other pieces of cardboard. Someone informs me these are non-threats and that hitting them will be a penalty. I listen as someone briefs us on how to shoot the stage. I immediately disregard this brief, because it is not tactically sound. Stroke beard while watching the other sheeple on my “squad” (loose term there, I would not take these goons to a fight with a paper bag…) shoot the stage just how they were told to in the brief.
0915: My turn to shoot.
The guy holding the timer calls my name and I step forward. He tells me to “load and make ready,” So I do. He asks me if I understand the course of fire. I respond with by growling “eliminate the threats with extreme prejudice” through my beard. I think this made him uneasy. I take a seat behind the faux desk. I place my hands on the desk and immerse myself in scenario placed in front of me.
“Shooter are you ready”
I barely hear this as I am in deep into condition red.
“BEEP!”
“THREAT!” I announce with a guttural scream.
Red, turns to salmon, turns to black as my weapon’s hand (no such thing as a strong hand to me, both of my hands are deadly) reaches for my weapon system. My support hand reaches for the edge of the desk as I violently kick the chair out from underneath me as I begin to stand up. I flip the desk on to it’s side with the might of a thousand Thors and drop in an Urban Prone that would give Haley a boner. I shoot six shots at the first three targets with great speed using everything I learned from my last CFS class.
“CHECK!!!!” I yell to my imaginary partner while I conduct the finest tactical reload that I have ever performed.
While placing my second mag back into my HSGI Taco Pouch, I rolled to the other side of my piece of cover to ventilate the remaining three targets. I slide out of cover. Six more shots.
“Uhhhh, if you’re finished, stand up, watch your muzzle, unload and show clear” says the guy holding the timer. So I do.
I chuckle to myself, thinking about how well trained I am. My Urban Prone was immaculate. The tactical reload was flawless. And I dropped 6 bad guys in less that 20 seconds. 18.93 seconds to be exact.
After I stand, I look back the “squad” to gloat about my time to see jaws on the floor. They must have never watched a real operator operate I think to myself.
The guy with the timer says something about “points down” and “4 hits on a non-threat,” but I know that if the targets were real people (who move) my hits would have been lethal and those “non-threats” would have dropped to the ground like good little sheeple
0930: A few more sheeple shoot the stage after the desk is placed back upright. After a few shooters are run through the course of fire, some old man walks up and has a brief discussion with the yuppie that held the timer while I shot. Some odd looks are thrown my way. But I stay stoic and stare back through my mirrored aviators while puffing my cigarette through my bushy beard. After a minute or two. The old man throws one more glance in my direction, nods to the timer stand, and walks in my direction.
“Hi there,” he says and extends a hand toward me.
“Hi,” I reply as I reluctantly shake his hand.
“This is your first match, huh?”
“Yes, but I’ve been training for years.”
“Yeah, about that, um, you can’t do stuff like that here…” He says uneasily.
“Stuff like what?” I respond, dropping my hands and pushing my shoulders back.
“Well, flipping the desk over was, um, not in the course description, and not…”
“Oh, so you mean I’m not allowed to win the fight?” I interrupt. This guy is pissing me off.
“You realize this is a game, right? We’re here to have fun, shoot under a little stres…” He attempts to explain.
“LIFE IS NOT A GAME! LIFE IS DYNAMIC! YOU DON’T KNOW STRESS UNTIL YOU’VE PATROLLED THE SUBURBS AT 2100 ON FOOT!!”
His eyes got really big. I notice that I have made an impact.
“Just…follow the stage descriptions…” He mutters as he walks off with wide eyes.
I chuckle as I think about how I just man-handled that little prick with my Type-A personality.
I reload my magazines and cover holes up on targets with tape.
0945: We arrive at stage 2. This stage has some walls made of what looks like construction fence shaped into a hallway. From what I hear of the stage brief, we start at the end of the hallway that is downrange and move to other end, engaging targets in two “doorways” (just openings in the construction fence) as you move. There is also a small piece of steel at the end of the hallway that must be engaged through a “window” at the end of the hall. I stop listening and scan my area, like a good sheepdog.
I watch two guys shoot. With horrible tactics. I mean, really, these types will be the first to die when SHTF.
1000: My turn to operate. I’m called to the line and once again told to “make ready.” I do. I breathe in and out slowly to control my heart rate. It’s time to do work. Clear this house. Make these sheep safe. Get my gunfigther on.
“Shooter Ready?”
Red, Blue, Tickle-Me-Pink, Sepia, Goldenrod. My threat levels blur together as I end on Black.
“BEEP!!”
I don’t call threat this time. We are clearing rooms, it’s time for a slow, deliberate, stealthy approach.
I draw my weapon system and begin a slow movement down the hallway. I come to the first doorway.
“TRAILER UP!” I scream to the teammates that populate my head. I feel the imaginary squeeze. I go from stealth, to dynamic. Breaching the door with the speed of a hundred angry wasps. I acquire two targets and begin to engage them while moving toward them. My barrel is nearly touching the second target as I break the 6th or 7th shot.
“CHECK!” I once again call as I perform a flawless tactical reload.
I retreat from the room and move dynamically to the next room. I don’t wait to breech, but move in fluidly. There are no walls on the perimeter of these “rooms,” it’s almost as if they wanted us to shoot from the hallways. Tactical noobs.
I see the first target, disregard my sights, and break the first shot.
“BANG!…Click.”
I glance down and see a double feed. In a millisecond, I get pissed. I have never experienced a failure to eject with my Taurus PT1911.
I look back up and see that I am still facing two, yet to be neutralized bad guys. I remove my support hand from my firearm and reach for the small of my back. My hand reaches underneath my TAD Gear Stealth Hoodie and feels the warm rubber of the handle of my TraumaHawk, the finest tactical TomaHawk money can buy.
Before I can realize what I had done, I have unsheathed the “best last resort” I had. In two swipes I slashed both targets from the top of cardboard “head” all the way through. I dropped the blade, and began to start my type 3 malfunction clearance, but I hear someone talking.
“You can just stop there…” says the guy holding the timer.
“I’m not done.” I reply while attempting to pull the magazine from the Taurus.
“Yeah, you are, just unload and show clear,” he replies as I finally get the magazine clear.
I show him a clear weapon, but I’m not satisfied. I pick up the tomahawk and remember the DVD I had watched the night before. I side step the targets and fire the TraumaHawk at the small steel target at the bottom of the berm. I grin as I watch the blade fly toward target. But it continues to climb, and flies over the berm.
Well, damn. I would have scared him to death. That really is what it’s all about. Doesn’t matter how you get there as long as threat elimination is the result. A psychological stop is still a stop.
1015: I’m now loading up my car. The old man came by after I had shot and told me that I was DQed. Some words were exchanged. I believe I called someone a crayon eater. I calm down and realize that it’s better if I quit now, rather than fully embarrass the rest of this crowd of non-tactical hacks. I don’t think I will be back.
1400: I’m back at the compound now. Wife is yelling at me about something. The one thing my years of mental hardness training has allowed me to do is tune her out. I silently think about the days events and recall my tactical superiority. I operated well, and found weak spots in myself as an operator.
Now the real struggle begins, trying to find out where to hone my tomahawk skills….
LOL
0405: Coffee. Black. With gunpowder in it. Makes a man hard.
0415: Brush teeth. With Break-Free. Because, **** You. That’s why.
0430: Dress. Yell at the wife for not having my Kryptek Pants cleaned. Settle for my Tru-Spec BDUs in Multicam. Already feel like a tool, because Multicam is so last year. Toss on a Tru-spec combat shirt in Coyote, because real operators don’t match. Don EDC gear. Load range bag with 200 rounds of Corbon DPX, because I train like I fight.
0500: Back out of the driveway. Maintain situational awareness while exiting suburbs. I live my life in condition red. Always aware. Briefly entertain the thought of divorcing my wife. She will only slow me down when SHTF.
0745: Arrive at range. Register for the match. I’m handed a sheet. They tell me this is where your scores are recorded. I scoff, as the only score I care about is whether I am alive and the threats are eliminated. I keep it, as they tell me this is the only way they keep track of who’s turn it is to operate. There’s a place on the sheet for a name. I put “Jim White” down for PERSEC reasons. You never know who could see this sheet.
0815: Waiting for some type of meeting. Starting to notice a lot of people showing up wearing what looks like bicycle shirts that are bright with logos all over them. Some of them throw on funny looking vests over said shirts. I’m beginning to wonder if I’m at a dynamic shooting match, or a fishing tournament. Finally, I see some other tactical guys, one even has a beard, I make my way over to them. We talk tactics for the next few minutes, they inform me that they have been operating at IDPA matches for a few months. They tell me to “squad” with them. I’m kind of apprehensive of this. I’m a lone wolf. But they seem like decent men. One of them tell me that you’re not supposed to have loaded weapons until they tell you to load them. I’m instantly appalled. But if LAV can do it, I can. Hell, I even heard Yeager shot IDPA once.
0830: Safety Meeting. I use this time to size up the crowd. So. Many. Sheep.
0850: They release us to go to our first stage. As we approach, I notice an office desk sitting in front of 8 humanoid shaped pieces of cardboard. Two pieces have black hands on them. They are placed in front of two of the other pieces of cardboard. Someone informs me these are non-threats and that hitting them will be a penalty. I listen as someone briefs us on how to shoot the stage. I immediately disregard this brief, because it is not tactically sound. Stroke beard while watching the other sheeple on my “squad” (loose term there, I would not take these goons to a fight with a paper bag…) shoot the stage just how they were told to in the brief.
0915: My turn to shoot.
The guy holding the timer calls my name and I step forward. He tells me to “load and make ready,” So I do. He asks me if I understand the course of fire. I respond with by growling “eliminate the threats with extreme prejudice” through my beard. I think this made him uneasy. I take a seat behind the faux desk. I place my hands on the desk and immerse myself in scenario placed in front of me.
“Shooter are you ready”
I barely hear this as I am in deep into condition red.
“BEEP!”
“THREAT!” I announce with a guttural scream.
Red, turns to salmon, turns to black as my weapon’s hand (no such thing as a strong hand to me, both of my hands are deadly) reaches for my weapon system. My support hand reaches for the edge of the desk as I violently kick the chair out from underneath me as I begin to stand up. I flip the desk on to it’s side with the might of a thousand Thors and drop in an Urban Prone that would give Haley a boner. I shoot six shots at the first three targets with great speed using everything I learned from my last CFS class.
“CHECK!!!!” I yell to my imaginary partner while I conduct the finest tactical reload that I have ever performed.
While placing my second mag back into my HSGI Taco Pouch, I rolled to the other side of my piece of cover to ventilate the remaining three targets. I slide out of cover. Six more shots.
“Uhhhh, if you’re finished, stand up, watch your muzzle, unload and show clear” says the guy holding the timer. So I do.
I chuckle to myself, thinking about how well trained I am. My Urban Prone was immaculate. The tactical reload was flawless. And I dropped 6 bad guys in less that 20 seconds. 18.93 seconds to be exact.
After I stand, I look back the “squad” to gloat about my time to see jaws on the floor. They must have never watched a real operator operate I think to myself.
The guy with the timer says something about “points down” and “4 hits on a non-threat,” but I know that if the targets were real people (who move) my hits would have been lethal and those “non-threats” would have dropped to the ground like good little sheeple
0930: A few more sheeple shoot the stage after the desk is placed back upright. After a few shooters are run through the course of fire, some old man walks up and has a brief discussion with the yuppie that held the timer while I shot. Some odd looks are thrown my way. But I stay stoic and stare back through my mirrored aviators while puffing my cigarette through my bushy beard. After a minute or two. The old man throws one more glance in my direction, nods to the timer stand, and walks in my direction.
“Hi there,” he says and extends a hand toward me.
“Hi,” I reply as I reluctantly shake his hand.
“This is your first match, huh?”
“Yes, but I’ve been training for years.”
“Yeah, about that, um, you can’t do stuff like that here…” He says uneasily.
“Stuff like what?” I respond, dropping my hands and pushing my shoulders back.
“Well, flipping the desk over was, um, not in the course description, and not…”
“Oh, so you mean I’m not allowed to win the fight?” I interrupt. This guy is pissing me off.
“You realize this is a game, right? We’re here to have fun, shoot under a little stres…” He attempts to explain.
“LIFE IS NOT A GAME! LIFE IS DYNAMIC! YOU DON’T KNOW STRESS UNTIL YOU’VE PATROLLED THE SUBURBS AT 2100 ON FOOT!!”
His eyes got really big. I notice that I have made an impact.
“Just…follow the stage descriptions…” He mutters as he walks off with wide eyes.
I chuckle as I think about how I just man-handled that little prick with my Type-A personality.
I reload my magazines and cover holes up on targets with tape.
0945: We arrive at stage 2. This stage has some walls made of what looks like construction fence shaped into a hallway. From what I hear of the stage brief, we start at the end of the hallway that is downrange and move to other end, engaging targets in two “doorways” (just openings in the construction fence) as you move. There is also a small piece of steel at the end of the hallway that must be engaged through a “window” at the end of the hall. I stop listening and scan my area, like a good sheepdog.
I watch two guys shoot. With horrible tactics. I mean, really, these types will be the first to die when SHTF.
1000: My turn to operate. I’m called to the line and once again told to “make ready.” I do. I breathe in and out slowly to control my heart rate. It’s time to do work. Clear this house. Make these sheep safe. Get my gunfigther on.
“Shooter Ready?”
Red, Blue, Tickle-Me-Pink, Sepia, Goldenrod. My threat levels blur together as I end on Black.
“BEEP!!”
I don’t call threat this time. We are clearing rooms, it’s time for a slow, deliberate, stealthy approach.
I draw my weapon system and begin a slow movement down the hallway. I come to the first doorway.
“TRAILER UP!” I scream to the teammates that populate my head. I feel the imaginary squeeze. I go from stealth, to dynamic. Breaching the door with the speed of a hundred angry wasps. I acquire two targets and begin to engage them while moving toward them. My barrel is nearly touching the second target as I break the 6th or 7th shot.
“CHECK!” I once again call as I perform a flawless tactical reload.
I retreat from the room and move dynamically to the next room. I don’t wait to breech, but move in fluidly. There are no walls on the perimeter of these “rooms,” it’s almost as if they wanted us to shoot from the hallways. Tactical noobs.
I see the first target, disregard my sights, and break the first shot.
“BANG!…Click.”
I glance down and see a double feed. In a millisecond, I get pissed. I have never experienced a failure to eject with my Taurus PT1911.
I look back up and see that I am still facing two, yet to be neutralized bad guys. I remove my support hand from my firearm and reach for the small of my back. My hand reaches underneath my TAD Gear Stealth Hoodie and feels the warm rubber of the handle of my TraumaHawk, the finest tactical TomaHawk money can buy.
Before I can realize what I had done, I have unsheathed the “best last resort” I had. In two swipes I slashed both targets from the top of cardboard “head” all the way through. I dropped the blade, and began to start my type 3 malfunction clearance, but I hear someone talking.
“You can just stop there…” says the guy holding the timer.
“I’m not done.” I reply while attempting to pull the magazine from the Taurus.
“Yeah, you are, just unload and show clear,” he replies as I finally get the magazine clear.
I show him a clear weapon, but I’m not satisfied. I pick up the tomahawk and remember the DVD I had watched the night before. I side step the targets and fire the TraumaHawk at the small steel target at the bottom of the berm. I grin as I watch the blade fly toward target. But it continues to climb, and flies over the berm.
Well, damn. I would have scared him to death. That really is what it’s all about. Doesn’t matter how you get there as long as threat elimination is the result. A psychological stop is still a stop.
1015: I’m now loading up my car. The old man came by after I had shot and told me that I was DQed. Some words were exchanged. I believe I called someone a crayon eater. I calm down and realize that it’s better if I quit now, rather than fully embarrass the rest of this crowd of non-tactical hacks. I don’t think I will be back.
1400: I’m back at the compound now. Wife is yelling at me about something. The one thing my years of mental hardness training has allowed me to do is tune her out. I silently think about the days events and recall my tactical superiority. I operated well, and found weak spots in myself as an operator.
Now the real struggle begins, trying to find out where to hone my tomahawk skills….
LOL
